


So These Two Outlaws Walk into a Bar...

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:39:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Prompt: John and Harry lock Root and Shaw up in a room. loved your story thankss!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	So These Two Outlaws Walk into a Bar...

It had been a long week, a hard week- but weren’t they all? None the less, John Reese and Harold Finch decided it was long enough for their two leading ladies.

"We’ve got this one, Miss. Shaw," Harold says for the umpteenth time, grabbing his gray suit-jacket from the table. He slips it over his shoulders as John grabs an extra gun.

"And what if you don’t? What are we supposed to do?" She retorts heatedly, pacing down the subway car and back. "Am I just trapped here with- with- with her?!"

"Oh, don’t act like you wouldn’t enjoy that," Root’s smooth voice comes from behind them as she slips into the train car. "But I agree with Sameen, you should let us in on this." She comes forward and sits on one of the subway seats, heels clicking as she crosses her legs.

* * *

 

"No time for that," John answers, poking his head in. Putting two fingers in his mouth, he whistles, and Bear comes to his side. "Ready, Harold?"

Harold nods, then steps forward, but Shaw grabs his shoulder firmly. With a smug smile she adds, “I’m ready too, John.”

"Me three," calls Root, standing once more and coming forward. Harold gives John a less than amused, what-do-we-do look. John’s eyes reply with a plan.

"Fine," Reese says at last, greeted by a fulfilling smile from Shaw. "Grab your stuff."

Shaw turns on her heel, then heads toward her own, black jacket. Root watches as Shaw’s toned arms slide into the sleeves, and the tank top is replaced with the sight of a trench coat. As Shaw grabs her gun from the desk, John pulls Harold by the arm out of the car, then closes the door with a teeth shattering BANG.

The sound catches both women off guard, and they raise their guns instinctively. But, as they come to realize, there is nothing to shoot. Root walks up to the door; pushes it. Nothing. She rams her shoulder into it. Nothing. There is a “cli-click” of a padlock from outside, and Root’s eyes shift to disbelief. Outside the door, Harold’s eyes mirror her own.

"Um… John…" Harold’s voice is cautious, his words dancing lightly over eggshells.

"Yeah?" He replies. He’s not looking at Harold as he hooks Bear’s leash, but there is an undeniable humor to his voice.

"Did you just-"

"Yeah." He turns, and there is a quirked smile on his face.

"Oh, no," Harold’s face morphs to match the dread instilled in his eyes. "You do know who you locked in there, don’t you?"

"Yes, Harold," John replies with extended patients. Just then, Shaw knocks angrily on the window. Reese doesn’t turn, just pulls his long, dark grey coat up higher on his neck. "Shall we go?"

________\ If Your Number’s Up /________

"I can’t believe he did this to us," Sameen says yet again. She repeats her harsh banging against the door, jacket now off and cast to the floor. She stumbles back as it- yet again- doesn’t budge. Looking down at her shoulder, she sees the purple of a bruise slowly crawling in. Gritting her teeth, she readies herself to charge once more.

"Sameen, the door isn’t moving, now stop before you hurt yourself."

"Well, I could throw you at the door," Shaw throws back hostilely, the joking tone lost under layers of rage.

"Or…" Root says in a suggestive tone, coming behind Shaw as she starts her shoulder forward. Grabbing her by the waist, she pulls back, and the shoulder misses by a mere inch. Root puts her mouth close to Shaw’s ear, eyes straight forward. "We could try and shoot out the window."

Shaw uncoils her tense muscles, thinking this new option over. Her eyes calculate every option, every variable. Slowly, she begins to nod.

"Okay," she agrees at last, chewing on her bottom lip. Then, as if something she hadn’t acknowledged before crosses her mind, she stops. After another moment, she looks down. She sighs in slight annoyance, partially angry at Root, and partially angry at her jumping heart.

"Root…" Shaw says evenly; dangerously. "You can let go now…"

There is a delay in Root’s action, as if she stops to think it over, then relinquishes her hold.

In an almost awkward silence, Shaw walks to the computer desk, picking up her handgun. She aims. Fires. There is a loud bang, a smack, and a groan- but nothing more. The sound of shattering plexiglass Shaw longed desperately to hear never comes. Looking at the window, the bullet is lodged snuggly, with barely any cracking around it. A new anger burning within her, Sameen fires again, then once more, and continues until her clip is emptied into the window. Nothing. Nothing but a window filled with bullets and a smoking gun. Upset with the failure, she throws the gun and it skitters down the subway car.

"Leave it to New York to have bullet proof glass in the subway," she fumes, sitting in a chair. Leaning forward, she puts her elbows on her knees; resting her head in her hands. Silently, Root comes to sit beside her.

"Well, as long as we’re here," she says with a self amused smile, "might as well get comfortable."

Shaw looks over at her, not moving anything but her eyes, as Root bends over and slides off her heels. Then, arching her back, she shrugs off her snappy windbreaker, revealing a tight, black v-neck. Shaw looks away.

Sighing, Root ruffles her wavy hair, then turns to Sameen.

"What do you wanna do?" She asks, received by a snort of contempt.

"Get out of here," Shaw replies blandly.

"Well, besides that." Root leans in, resting her arm on the back of the seat, and her head on that. She looks at Shaw carefully, taking in her dark hair wrapped up in a ponytail and tense muscles. Finally, Shaw leans back in her seat with a slouch, eyes meeting Root’s. "Let’s talk."

"About?"

Root ponders for a moment, then replies, “Girl stuff.”

Shaw looks at her, waiting for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, she laughs at the silence. “Not a chance, Root.”

"Then… How about feelings." Root says it with a joking air, but her eyes are calm and serious. Sameen shifts uneasily, not sure which one to believe. Finally, she decides on her go-to answer.

"I don’t have feelings, I’m a-"

"I’ve heard your self-evaluation a hundred times," Root says with a humored smile, bringing her head in closer. "And I think there are some flaws in it."

Feeling the challenge, Shaw brings her own face closer with menace. “Oh yeah? Like. What.”

Root scans her eyes for a moment, watching, as if the dazzling gold flecks within them are stars and she’s an astrologist. Then, she quirks her mouth up into a smile, a strand of hair cascading down onto her face.

"Well, for starters, you have plenty of emotion, you just don’t show it. I can see it, in your eyes- deep deep back within yourself- a lot is going on in that scary little head of yours, but on the outside is where you are stone. However, you are not such a hard marble on the inside."

Sameen clucks her teeth in annoyance, but her slight interest on this analysis keeps her from interrupting. After a moment’s pause, Root continues.

"Besides, I’ve seen your emotions- the ones you show on the outside. Little things. Not like me, or like John, or like anyone; just your own little tells."

"I don’t have any tells," Shaw shoots back hostilely, only to receive a smug grin from Root.

"When you’re dismal, you role your eyes and purse your lips."

"I do not!"

"When you are happy or flattered, you press your lips together to hide the smile, and you cast your head down slightly."

"That is not true!" Shaw retorts angrily, pulling her face back. Root sits up straight also, the upper hand giving her a glowing morale.

"And when someone is right about something they say about you, you fight back."

"I only fight back when I’m an-"

"You find me attractive. Admit it." Root says cockily. The steam rises from Shaw’s head.

"I won’t admit a damn thing because-" Shaw starts to fight back, realizes she is indeed proving Root’s words, then sits in silence as her cheeks redden with rage. Root gives her a provocative look, then shrugs her shoulders in an I-already-know-you-do way.

Suddenly, a phone rings. It takes a moment for Sameen to break her smoldering gaze at Root, but on the third ring she answers her cell phone.

"What." She spits.

"I’m assuming you’re not having a good time," Harold’s voice plays through both women’s ear pieces.

"Hi, Harry," Root coos, and Shaw roles her eyes at the content in her voice.

"I was just checking in," he continues; behind him cars soar by. "Is everything all right in there?"

"No," Shaw replies darkly. "Your machine is going to give you a new number soon, and it’ll be Root’s."

"Oh, honey," Root replies in sweet modesty. "You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried."

"I’m going to shoot her, Harold!" She screams into the ear piece, which is only answered with amusement.

"You’re out of bullets."

"I didn’t say I was going to use my gun," she replies dangerously.

"Well, I have faith in the two of you to behave yourselves, but we must be going," Harold cuts in. In the background, the sounds of bullets ricochet off metal.

"Wait no!-" Sameen jumps to her feet, but the line goes dead. When she calls back furiously, the phone goes straight to voicemail.

With a groan, she plops back down in a chair.

When she looks over at Root, she rolls her eyes and looks away.

"You know, Sam," Root says, sliding over into the chair right beside Shaw’s. "When you- or anyone, really- adore something, that emotion is a stem from aggression. Proven fact. Could be why you’re always so aggressive towards me."

"Root…"

"Just trying to help," Root replies with an innocent smile, placing a hand on Shaw’s leg. In less than a jiffy, Shaw grabs her arm by the wrist, and slowly twists it. Root lets out a small, pained laugh. Then, she throws her elbow into the side of Shaw’s ribcage. Instantly, Shaw relinquishes her hold on Root’s wrist, but both spring to their feet, eyes locked. Root’s are filled with amusement and life. Sameen’s? A little less amused; a little more hostile. Both stand as statues, waiting for the other to start the first strike of the fight.

It’s Shaw. With the speed of a peregrine falcon, she unleashes her talons and aims for Root’s abdomen. She gets her shot, two blows to the stomach, but Root is right on the case, returning with a hearty kick to Shaw’s side. From there, it is a battlefield of fists thrown and blocked, both slowly walking further into the train car. As Root takes a step back, her foot rolls over one of her discarded heels, and stumbles. Shaw calculates the options, and without a moment’s hesitation, she charges, pumbling Root to the ground.

Once there, she pins Root by the forearms with her hands; Shaw’s knees pressing hard into Root’s thighs. Their breathing is labored. Root looks into Shaw’s eyes, and the smirk she’d had on her face the entire fight leaves, replaced by a serious mouth and open eyes. The fight leaves her bones as she lays limp under Shaw’s harsh grip. Shaw sees the change, sees her eyes, and a jumble of thoughts mix and mingle within her head.

Part of her brain says to get up. To roll off and walk away in disgust. Classic move. Easy tension diffuser. But a seemingly bigger part of her won’t allow it. This part, a confused puddle of everything she has yet to face, keeps her locked in place. The seconds slow in Shaw’s eyes, each second drags and gives her all the time in the world to think- almost. Her thoughts shift around like a jigsaw puzzle trying to click in right, until one solid picture is formed.

No, she says to herself, eyebrows knitting with thought. No, that’s not-

But that seems to be exactly what it is. She bends her elbows haltingly, until her face is only an inch from Root’s. There, she stops, trying to take things in, secure her thoughts, and read Root’s expression. It’s an open one, clear to see- honest. It’s almost a willing thing. However it didn’t change the entire time she slid closer. Is it willing to go ahead, or willing to get off? Shaw thinks, still looking at her; trying to figure so much out in so little time. Root’s eyes flicker to Shaw’s lips in back. Closing her eyes, Shaw uncoils her taught muscles, and starts to bring herself back up. Big mistake.

In the few seconds of letting her guard down, Root alligator rolls, now pinning Shaw to the floor. The playful smile returns to her face, as she finds amusement in turning the tables. The smile is met with a drive in her eyes. She sits, straddled over Shaw, and with her hands on Shaw’s wrists, holding them on the floor above her head. Her smile falters as the drive in her eyes intensifies. She pushes Sameen’s hands up, letting them straighten as she allows her self to slide forward with them. She hesitates as their noses brush, a smile crinkling her nose, then it leaves completely. Her lips hover just above Sameen’s; then, she hears a noise. Turning her head, she looks over her shoulder for the source.

Using all the force she has, Shaw swings herself around, causing them to roll yet another time. But, with Root’s grip still tight on Shaw’s wrists, she slams much harder into Root than she anticipated. Her mouth connects forcefully, locking them into a prolonged kiss.

__________\ We’ll Find You /__________

John and Harold clatter down the stairs and into the subway. Bear charges past them and takes his spot on a blanket to rest. As the two walk towards the car, faces bitten by the cold New York air, Harold stops in his track. Feeling his unease, John stops to look back at him.

"This does not look good," Harold says, eyes scanning the seemingly empty train car. They drag over and land on the window filled with bullets.

"Oh, dear," Harold exclaims with dread, scurrying forward, "I do hope they are still alive."

"Calm down, Harold," John calls back, looking in a window. "I found them."

"You did? Where." He demands, stalking forward. John turns to face him, a smile playing on his face. He steps aside to let Harold peer in. Once looking in, he is taken slightly aback to see the scene unfolding before him. On the ground, one of Shaw’s hands slides down Root’s side. Root’s own finds its way to the edge of Shaw’s shirt, and then disappears from sight as it goes beneath the material.

Harold turns away from the mirror. “Will you open the door, Mr. Reese?” He asks seriously.

John shrugs his shoulders, leaning against the metal car. “Don’t know the combination. It was on your desk.”

With a disgruntled sigh, Harold walks to the door, then works on the small, delicate lock.

"Are you really going in there?" John asks, pushing off the silver surface and walking forward.

"Well, I do have an identity to maintain, and all of my essays are in there." With a click, the lock comes undone. He slips it off, then pushes the door open.

From the ground, Shaw springs into a sitting position next to Root. Beside her, Root sits up on her elbows. Harold gives the two no more than an acknowledging glance, then turns to his briefcase. On his way to grab it, he notices the shattered cellphone on the floor. Sighing, he scoops it up, then frowns. Turning to the two women, he gives an unsatisfactory look, holding up the broken phone for them to see.

"Sorry, Harry," Root says with a small shrug. "We got into a little fight earlier. Mutsa slipped." Shaw looks over at her, and sees that she is glowing, a smile set deep on her face. She looks away, face flushing fiercely. Harold places the phone down on the desk, then grabs his bag, filing through it.

Once again, Shaw dares to look over, only through the corner of her eyes this time, and sees Root already looking at her. She must see something harsh and cruel in Shaw’s features, for she looks away- smile gone completely- sitting up.

Sameen thinks a moment, tries to picture herself from the outside. Face pulled tight, eyes in slits, lips pressed together. Angry. Sighing, Shaw smacks herself mentally. Then, an idea forms in her head. After a moment of denying it, she accepts it with a small smile. She takes a deep breath, then scoots over to Root. Root looks over at her, a question burning in slightly hurt eyes, but Shaw ignores them. Instead, she sits behind Root, stretching her legs out on either side of Root’s own. Wrapping her arms around Root’s waist, she rest her chin on her shoulder. Shaw closes her eyes, not wanting to see. Not wanting to see if anyone was looking, or reacting. She was always hiding things, she decided. She stayed away from everything because she made herself out to be steel, and never wanted others to see her any other way.

Once calm, she opens her eyes. Blinks a few times. Out of the corner of her eye, she’s sees Root’s signature smile, and something within her lightens. Looking forward, John walks in. He glances at the two of them, nods in a greeting, then sits to type on the computer. Shaw smiles to herself, liking how nothing changed. Sitting here, she was different, but no one treated her likewise.

Sameen feels one of Root’s hands come to meet hers as John asks, “Anyone up for lunch?”


End file.
